


Break Out

by reinkist



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Clothed Sex, Confessions, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Mutual Pining, Nipple Play, Not Underage, Possessive Keith, Sex Pollen, Written before season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10136459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reinkist/pseuds/reinkist
Summary: An unexpected reaction to the alien plant life forces Keith and Shiro to have to reevaluate what their relationship is, and what it could be.





	

Keith is on edge.

If Shiro had pressed him Keith wouldn't have been able to give a concrete reason why; the planet they'd landed on in search of a long-abandoned Altean outpost was as good as deserted. Scans of the planet had revealed no animal life larger than a bumblebee, and the atmosphere was perfectly acceptable to breathe. Which was probably a big reason the outpost had been placed here at all.

There's just something unsettling about it that Keith can't quite put his finger on. Trees with trunks the diameter of a handspan thrust out of the red earth, broad, flat leaves soaring what has to be eighty meters into the sky. They wave in the wind, dizzying against deep crystal blue, jagged against the reddish eye of the sun.

The earth is bare, for the most part, except for patches of moss that creep up the bases of the trees, dark blue-green, spattered with tiny neon pink constellations of buds. On their own they probably could have been considered beautiful, or at the very least nice to look at. But there's something about that pink up against the Arizona red of the dirt that's disturbing, almost sickening. Like something out of a fever dream.

Or maybe it's the smell, subtle but ever present, that's making him feel so...

Keith shoves his hands in his pockets and quickens his pace after Shiro. They just need to scout out this outpost and get the fuck out of here.

The paladins had split up on different scouting missions in search of different supplies - Lance and Coran had gone off in the Blue Lion to a nearby nebula after some mineral, or element, or something or other. Keith hadn't exactly been paying attention to the details. Pidge and Hunk were investigating the wreck of a large space freighter that had fallen into orbit around a neighboring planet in the same solar system. And he and Shiro were searching for the outpost.

All the two of them have to go on are some coordinates Allura had pulled up on the ship's computer. Of course, that information is ten thousand years old, and nobody knows what kind of condition the outpost is in -- or if it even still exists. But Shiro, Allura, and Coran all thought it seemed worth checking out, so they'd landed a pod in a nearby clearing and now Keith is here, watching Shiro's back, trying to swallow down the uncomfortable feeling in his chest.

Shiro turns and smiles. Keith tries to smile back in response, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards, but it doesn't come anywhere close to his eyes. Shiro turns around completely, stepping back once, twice, coming to a stop.

"Is everything OK?"

Keith catches up to him and pauses, eyes slanting to the side. "It's this place. There's...It's...making me uneasy."

Shiro nods. "Yeah. Me too." They study each other for a few beats, then Shiro claps a hand on Keith's shoulder. "Stay alert. We'll be out of here soon."

Keith nods back.

They walk for a short time longer, keeping close, keeping their eyes on the forest around them. The sun sinks behind them towards the horizon, much quicker than the Earth's sun, and shadows are lengthening, crawling across the dirt. Keith's pulse throbs at his temples. The sun is beating against his back. He's too warm. He wishes they'd thought to bring some water.

"Shiro," Keith says, jerking his thumb towards the glint of a large, reflective dome off to the left, nestled in the trees.

"Good job," Shiro responds with a tight smile, and they both head off towards it.

As they approach, the setting sun sends a gash of reddish light over the metal curve of the dome. The glare leaves a painful green imprint on the backs of Keith's retinas, and he finally snaps his eyes shut against it. The green swims sickeningly with every twitch of his eyeballs. His head hurts.

"Keith?" Keith drops his hand from his forehead and looks up at Shiro, mouth twisting. "Are you alright?" Shiro's eyes are concerned, his brow furrowed. Everything feels strange, bright and out of focus in turn. Sharp. Hot. The collar of Keith's shirt rubs uncomfortably against the back of his neck, and Shiro's question rolls around in his mind for a few beats too long.

"Yeah, sorry. It's just a headache."

Shiro's eyes don't lose their concern. "Think you can hold out? Something tells me there's not going to be much there." He jerks his head in the direction of the dome. Parts of it had fallen in; beside it there looks to be a large landing area, completely empty, covered in neon markings mostly overgrown with that same strange moss. "Looks like everyone left this place a long time ago."

Keith nods. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

Shiro claps a hand on his shoulder, softer this time. "We'll be quick."

As Shiro walks away, the touch of his hand seems to linger, heavy, almost hot, even through the thick material of Keith's jacket. Time feels strange; the pressure of Shiro's fingers still seems to trail off his shoulder and down his arm, tingling and electric. A shiver goes up his back.

It's dark inside the dome. Keith struggles to unfasten the flap on one of the pouches on his belt. When he finally succeeds he pulls out a penlight and clicks it on. The beam is narrow, but it still gives off a good amount of ambient light that fills the space around them, shining a dull, pearly white off the walls.

Shiro looks back at him, smiling appreciatively, and the warmth of his gaze sends a sudden shock through Keith's middle. Heat rushes up his chest to his face. Shiro turns and walks on, and Keith rushes to catch up.

They make their way through the building, shining the penlight down hallways, into the corners of rooms. It looks like the place has been completely ransacked, which makes sense, Shiro says, and Keith agrees, scrubbing at his forehead with the cuff of his sleeve. It has been ten thousand years. The whole place is overgrown with that strange, spongy dark blue-green moss, the tiny pink flower buds gleaming in the beam of the penlight. Keith is out of breath. The air feels icy in his lungs.

It turns out that only the top floor of the building is above ground. Stairs spiral down, floor after floor, deeper than either of them had anticipated. When they get to the top of the stairway that leads to the fourth floor down, Shiro stops Keith with a hand on his shoulder.

"We should go back. It doesn't seem like there's anything here. If Allura and Coran think it's worth it, we can come back later when you're feeling better."

"I'm fine," Keith says, straightening, looking up at Shiro, and it hits him, suddenly, how lucky he is, how _astronomically_ lucky he is to have this chance again, the chance to stand at Shiro's side. To look into his eyes. To see him smile, like he's doing just now, slow and warm, like Keith is someone special, someone desperately important. Warmth burns in Keith's stomach, dripping down between his legs. His pulse began to beat there, heady and insistent.

Shiro holds his gaze for another two beats, pulling his lower lip into his mouth, as if he has something to say, but he doesn't say it. He continues on down the hallway, eyes only dragging away from Keith's when Keith starts to follow.

They go down another level, and it's all the same: white walls, smooth like marble, covered in moss. It gets thicker, covering more and more of the walls and floor the lower they go down, until it feels like carpet under their feet.

It gets colder the farther underground they go. Keith knows it has to, but he feels so _hot_. His clothing rubs against his skin, pulled too tight around his shoulders, around his elbows.

Keith strips off his jacket, and the air against his skin almost burns with how cold it feels, how _good_. The shadows are starting to pulse, throbbing with the beat of Keith's heart in his chest, between his legs.

"Keith," Shiro says, and somewhere Keith can recognize the urgent note in his voice. "We need to head back. I feel...I think there might be something in the environment that we're reacting to..." Shiro's hand closes around his upper arm, and Keith takes in a long, shaky breath. Shiro's skin is cool, soothing, compared to the icy air. It feels good, unbearably good, and Keith...

There's something seriously wrong, here. Keith knows how Shiro makes him feel, and how he feels about Shiro. He has a handle on it. It never overpowers him, not like this, not when they're together. He has it under control.

"Oh my god, you're burning up," Shiro says, a note of panic in his voice. His hand travels up Keith's arm to his neck, to his cheek, to his forehead. Keith leans into his touch, eyelids fluttering shut. His breathing quickens before he even realizes it, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Pleasure spreads over his skin like a slow burning fire from all the places Shiro touched. This isn't, a small, frantic part of him says, this isn't good, this isn't right, you can't _show_ him this, he can't know how desperate he makes you feel...

Keith steps away, back toward the door they came through. He lurches forward, catching himself on the doorframe, off balance. What is happening to him...? Shiro was right. They have to get out of here.

Everything tilts.

Keith realizes, as if from a haze, that Shiro lifted him and is carrying him, bridal-style, out of the room and up the stairs. "Shiro," he starts to protest, but Shiro cuts him off, squeezing him a little.

"I've got you," he says, and Keith drops his head to Shiro's shoulder, breathing rapidly, hand fisted in the front of his vest. This is good. This is what he needed. He needs Shiro close, closer, not just now, but always. He slings an arm around Shiro's neck, pulling himself in, burying his face in Shiro's collar, inhaling, desperate for his warmth. He smells incredible, familiar and perfect, like nothing Keith could possibly put a word to other than _yes_.

"Shiro," Keith said again, voice rough.

"Keith..." Shiro's voice is unsteady, stuttering with the force of his step. His arms tighten, and Keith takes a long, gulping breath, pressing his face into the skin of Shiro's neck, above his collar, below his ear. "Almost there."

It's dark when they get outside. Keith catches a few glimpses of the sky over Shiro's shoulder, blotched all over with the multicolored spatters of the nearby nebula, almost as bright as a moon. The impossibly tall trees sway eerily in front of it, and Keith could swear that all the flowers in the moss are open, now, and that the forest floor is a sea of luminescent pink.

Shiro is breathing hard. His steps are slowing, his arms slackening against Keith's weight. He shifts Keith closer, tighter, squeezing handfuls of Keith's side and the back of his thigh. Like he's touching purposefully, like Keith is, one arm slung over Shiro's shoulder, clutching at the back, the other against Shiro's neck, against the subtle rasp of stubble along his jaw.

Keith needs Shiro to pay attention to him, needs his focus to shift from where they're going to what Shiro already _has_ , here, in his arms, and he must have said at least part of that out loud because Shiro's breath hitches. "I will, Keith, I will, I promise," Shiro tells him, and heat curls up through Keith's stomach, insistent and intense. Before he even knows what he's doing he's pressing a sucking kiss to Shiro's jaw, then another to his pulse point, and the soft, needy sound that Shiro makes before he traps his own bottom lip between his teeth is...

God...

 _Shiro_...

Shiro sets him down as carefully as he can in the clearing by the pod. He stumbles forward, panting harshly. Keith's jacket is over his arm. Keith had completely forgotten about it, but Shiro hadn't. Warmth courses through him and he hooks an arm around Shiro's back, squeezing tightly, helping him up the ramp and into the ship. Shiro hits the button that retracts the ramp and closes the hatch, and they help each other onto one of the long benches at the back of the pod.

Keith doesn't waste a moment. He had a taste of Shiro's skin and he wants it, now, needs it _now_ , under his lips, under his hands. He arches against Shiro's side, arms going around his shoulders, sucking at the underside of his jaw.

Shiro grabs roughly at the back of Keith's shirt, kneads at his waist, at his hip. "Wait..." he manages to get out before Keith pulls down the zipper on his vest, mouthing at his throat, dragging his teeth over his collarbone. "Should we be...should _you_ be..."

Keith pauses, breath reflecting hot off Shiro's throat. He _shouldn't_ be...shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be acting on this. It's what he promised himself so long ago.

But why?

Nothing makes sense anymore outside the heat of Shiro's body, outside the fire in Keith's veins, outside the constant throbbing between his legs. He lifts his head, pushing himself up a little on his knees, sliding one of them over Shiro's thighs to loosely straddle his lap. Shiro clutches at his body, a small, broken noise escaping him, and Keith frames his face with both hands, fingertips digging into the short hair at the back of his skull.

Shiro's eyes widen. Keith stares into them, brow furrowed, breathing quickly, and soon Shiro's eyes go hazy, his eyelids drooping. Shiro's tongue darts out, wets his lips, and the sight of it sends a bolt of lightning straight down through Keith's middle. When Keith crushes his mouth against his Shiro _moans_ , and Keith can feel the vibration of it against his palms. The sound of it is so soft and _needy_ , and Keith pulls Shiro's face closer, sucking at his lower lip, tracing its velvet soft inside with the tip of his tongue.

It takes Shiro a beat or two to respond, to part his lips, to let his head fall back under the force of Keith's mouth. He squeezes Keith's body to his, one arm around Keith's chest, the other around his waist, and Keith pants into his mouth at the desperation of it, at the urgency.

"Keith," Shiro murmurs, "Keith," like it's something he's been absolutely aching to say, and Keith can't help it, his hips jerk into Shiro's, trapping his erection against the crease of Shiro's thigh. Shiro lets out a soft cry, grabbing at Keith's hips, yanking him close, again and again, until Keith can't even kiss him anymore, can only pant into his mouth. He roughly cards his fingers through Shiro's hair, tugging at the longer strands, and Shiro's hips thrust up into his, immediate and off rhythm.

Shiro's vest is easily shoved over his shoulders, but his undershirt is a bigger problem, one that Keith doesn't even know how to begin to solve. Shiro finally yanks his arms free of the vest, flinging it somewhere over the edge of the bench. Keith's hands are busy with the buckle of Shiro's belt, his mouth occupied by Shiro's throat, and thankfully Shiro has the whole undershirt situation under control. He starts to pull it up over his chest, and Keith helps him the instant his utility belt hits the floor.

Keith's own belt is next, then his shirt, shoved up over his head by Shiro's impatient hands, one soft against his overheated skin, the other smooth. Shiro must have taken off his glove. Keith shivers, taking in huge gulps of air, hands tight on Shiro's bare shoulders, grinding into Shiro's thigh. Almost as an afterthought he rips off his gloves, too, and tosses them over the edge of the bench. Shiro's skin is _hot_ under his palms, smooth and unbelievably _good_ as he pulls his hands over Shiro's shoulders and down over his chest, up again and down over his back. Periodic lines of scars crisscross Shiro's skin, some raised, some a little lower than the skin around them, and Keith digs his fingertips in, dragging them up. He presses his face to Shiro's shoulder, mouthing at his skin, sinking his teeth into the crook of his neck. He can't get enough; he sucks and bites at Shiro's skin, as much of it as he can reach.

Shiro yanks him close, clutching at his back, and Keith lets out a hoarse cry into Shiro's neck at the incredible slide of their skin. "Oh, oh god," Shiro groans, panting into Keith's shoulder, grabbing at Keith's waist, at his hips, at his ass. Keith shifts his weight completely into Shiro's lap, hips jerking into the unmistakable bulge of his cock. They both cry out, arching against each other, Shiro's hands sliding down over Keith's ass, pulling them together, tighter, again and again.

Keith leans his forehead into Shiro's neck, gasping with every rock of their hips. He closes his hands around Shiro's upper arms, slides them up to his shoulders, gripping tightly, pulling Shiro up against him. Shiro's head falls back as Keith grinds down, and Keith bites again at his throat, at his jaw. Shiro's arms go weak around his waist, his hands loosely grabbing at Keith's hips.

"I need to," Shiro gasps out, "I need to..." His voice is wrecked, and he stares at Keith, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, as he lets himself fall sideways onto the bench. "Just a little, dizzy." His hands don't leave Keith's hips.

Keith shoves himself unsteadily to his feet, forcing Shiro's hands to drop. He hesitates, hands hanging in the air, overheated, head full of fog. He stares down at Shiro for a few beats, then shoves Shiro's legs up onto the bench so that he's fully out on his back. "Are, you OK?" Keith asks, as if from far away, dragging his eyes up Shiro's body, from his thighs to the obvious bulge in the front of his pants, up his bare stomach to his hands, the flesh one now flat against his sternum, the metal one nearer to his collarbone. They rise and fall with the heaving of his chest. Shiro lets his head fall back, baring the length of his throat. His adam's apple bobs. God...

"Keith, please..." Shiro rolls his head to the side, his eyes back on Keith's, and Shiro lifts his hands, reaching out, biting down on his lower lip. He looks like he's in pain. Keith lurches towards him, yanking himself up Shiro's body with a hand planted on either side of his waist, a thigh between his legs. Shiro cries out, hips jerking, fingertips digging into Keith's shoulders.

This isn't enough. Keith can't get enough leverage. His mind is too hazy to formulate a plan so he grinds down against Shiro's hip, gasping with the strain, over and over. But it's not what he _wants_.

Finally he figures out that he can shift his left leg back over Shiro's thigh, and Shiro covers his mouth, trying to muffle the sounds he's making as Keith shoves his legs wide with the motion of his hips. That's it. That's it. That's it.

Shiro is _his_ and no one else's. Keith doesn't want anyone to do this to him, doesn't want anyone to make him writhe like this, make _sounds_ like this, no one but Keith.

He bucks his hips and Shiro's legs go wider; he shifts his weight to one hand and grabs Shiro's wrist, pulling his hand away from his mouth and pinning it to his chest. Shiro's eyes widen, fixing onto Keith's. They go wild, unfocused, then Shiro arches off the bench, hips jerking, a strangled cry wrenching its way out of his throat.

Oh, god, he...Keith thrusts twice more, and the sight of Shiro, the knowledge that _Keith_ is the one that did this, that finally, _finally_ , he was able to do what he wanted, do what he _needed_ , that...

Oh, _god_...

 _Shiro_...

Keith collapses onto his chest, head spinning, taking huge gulps of air, shaking from the waves of pleasure still rippling over his body. Everything goes black around the edges, fuzzy and far away. Shiro wraps his arms around his back, panting into his hair.

They last thing Keith feels before he loses consciousness are Shiro's hands, one smoothing over his shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of his skull, fingers in his hair.

"-ou there? Paladins, do you copy?"

Keith knows there's someone calling, or at least, he thinks so. Somehow everything feels the wrong size; he knows his hand is curled up by his face but it feels like it's farther away, like his mind is floating above his head, somehow, somewhere. It's hard to tell what's part of a dream and what's real. He's so _warm_...

"-iro? Keith? Paladins! Do you copy?"

It's Allura's voice, far away, muffled and strange. Shiro stirs underneath him, and Keith falls back down out of the dream so quickly that nausea rises in his throat. He tries to swallow. It's difficult; his mouth is so dry.

"They're, calling us," Shiro says, his voice rumbling under Keith's cheek. He sounds exhausted. Sick. Keith pushes himself up onto his elbows, cold where the air meets the sweat on his skin, fighting a wave of dizziness. He looks down into Shiro's face, brows drawn, searching. Shiro meets his eyes. "How do you feel?" Shiro asks, lifting a hand to the side of Keith's face. Keith can't help but to lean into it, eyes still fixed on Shiro's, searching for a sign that he's alright, that everything is...

"I'll be fine," Keith chokes out, the weight of everything that happened slamming down onto his shoulders. Shiro's eyes widen for a split second. His eyebrows twitch together, then his face goes blank. He drops his hand.

"This is the Castle of Lions calling the red and black paladins of Voltron! Please respond!" There's a note of panic in Coran's voice. Keith rolls off Shiro and stumbles to his feet. He swallows against another wave of sickness, catching himself against the doorframe. How long have they been out? Long enough for the come in his underwear to dry, anyway, Keith thinks in disgust. Guilt churns in his stomach. He can't think about any of this right now. He can't think about what happened, can't think about how wrong things have gone, can't think about the guarded look that rose in Shiro's eyes, like a door being slammed in his face.

Shiro brushes past him, through the door to the cockpit, head emerging from the collar of his undershirt. "We're here," he croaks out, catching himself on the back of the copilot's seat.

"Shiro!" Allura and Coran both call, voices overflowing with relief.

"We're alright," Shiro continues. Cutting to the chase. "We both had a bad reaction to something on the planet. Made us sick. Possibly..." he swallows, thickly. "Possibly the plant life. I think we'll be alright, but..."

"Oh my goodness," Allura says, voice stricken. "I had no idea humans could be affected in such a manner!"

Everything swims when Keith bends to pick up his shirt. He shakily pulls it on over his head and moves toward the pilot's chair, one steadying hand on the wall, then on the back of the seat. He sinks down, dropping his head into his hands. He hears the rustle of Shiro sitting in his own chair as Allura and Coran begin to go over the findings of the other scouting teams. Shiro tells them a little about the status of the outpost, and around the time that Lance joins the conversation on the other end Keith checks out completely.

"Keith?" Shiro's voice takes a moment to sink in, and Keith gingerly lifts his head to glance at Shiro over his hands. "Are you going to be OK to fly?"

"Yeah. Just...give me a minute." Keith drops his head back into his hands, taking one deep breath after the other. Eventually he pushes himself upright, leaning back, letting his head loll against the headrest. Shiro is looking at him, hunched, elbows on his knees, and Keith doesn't know what to do about the worry in his eyes.

"We don't have to leave just yet, if you still need time," Shiro says, and for the first time Keith doesn't know what to do with the burning, longing feeling that Shiro's attention always gives him, because there's something fundamentally wrong, now. There's a distance between them that was never there before, and it's growing. Shiro is upset. Keith knows. He can tell. He can always tell, better than anyone. "I know I shouldn't try. I feel terrible," Shiro continues. He's trying to be cheerful. He's not.

Shiro regrets what happened. There's no doubt about it. "No. I'm good," Keith says, swallowing, hurt and shame and anguish burning in his throat, behind his eyes. He turns and flicks at the startup controls of the pod, trying to ignore the fact that Shiro's eyes aren't on him. They don't return to him, either, not during the sick lurch of liftoff, or when the glare of the dawn sun pierces their eyes over the rim of the planet as they leave the atmosphere.

Keith almost recoils at the touch Red gives his mind when they near the ship. She pushes. Something is obviously wrong. The Black Paladin...?

Not now, Keith snaps back in a quick burst of anger, and is filled with instant regret.

Later, Red tells him, sharply, and retreats from his mind. Guilt burns in Keith's stomach.

Decontamination is tortuous. The silence between them has grown horrible, dark and brooding, like a living, malevolent thing. Keith's head is swimming. He doesn't know how much longer he's going to be able to stay on his feet. His fingers fumble at the fastenings of the simple white jumpsuit he'll wear until his regular clothing is blasted by a series of cleaning agents, inside and out, thank god. There's no setting on the healing pods that will flush out inhaled intoxicants from their systems any faster than their own bodies will, so the best course of action is to just rest, and wait it out.

Keith waits while Shiro talks with Allura a little more about their findings, or rather, their lack of. Shiro still can barely look at him, and Keith tests that fact again and again, worrying it like a loose tooth as they rehydrate and choke down as much food as they can, under Coran's direction.

If Shiro regrets it, Keith will just have to live with that fact. It doesn't change anything, not really. It doesn't change how important Shiro is to him, not in the slightest. Keith will still follow Shiro to the end of the universe if necessary. He'll still die for Shiro without a moment's hesitation.

The ache in Keith's chest lessens a little. He lets out a long breath. He just needed to remember what was important. They'll both get over it, and everything can go back to being the way it was. He just needs to tell Shiro that, and then he can sleep.

Keith doesn't miss the quick, pained glance that Shiro throws him when he rises from the mess hall table and turns to leave the room. He desperately needs Shiro to look at him, really _look_ at him, like he would before, when it felt like they were two strings, tuned to the same note. Keith follows him out of the room, follows him down the hallway.

Before they turn the corner toward the dormitories, Keith grabs Shiro by the arm. Shiro freezes, then turns, slowly. Keith doesn't let go.

"Look, Shiro, I know you regret it," Keith says. It comes out rough, and he stares up into Shiro's eyes, his brow furrowed. He thought this would be easy to say, but it isn't. The words leave his lips, and the space they leave behind feels so empty. "If you want to forget about it, I, we, can."

A look of pain passes across Shiro's face. "We should talk," he says, softly. "Come...come on."

When they get to Shiro's room they sit down on his bed. For a moment Keith feels like they're back at the Garrison and he's left his room after curfew to sneak into Shiro's, to talk breathlessly for hours with the lights down low. Shiro listened to him then, like no one ever had. Like he was someone worth hearing.

But they're not.

"I'm sorry," Shiro says, and Keith isn't prepared for the sucking pain that phrase causes in his chest. "I shouldn't have done...any of that. You weren't in your right mind, you couldn't..."

Keith feels like he's been punched in the gut. What? "Shiro!"

"Let me finish," Shiro interrupts, quietly. He's hunched in on himself, broad shoulders tight. "I pushed you to keep going with the mission, even though you weren't feeling right. And then..." He lets out a pained huff of a breath. "I can't expect you to forgive me."

Keith shoves himself closer, looking into Shiro's face, staring intently into his eyes. Shiro takes a quick breath in surprise. His eyes are wide. "Let me tell you something, Shiro, and you can...forget it, if you want, but. I would do it again."

Shiro's stares back, not seeming to comprehend. Keith lets out a frustrated breath.

"I was going to say that this doesn't change anything," Keith says, impatiently. "I don't care how you...how you feel about me. Because it doesn't change how I feel about you."

"Keith..." Shiro's tone contains a warning. Keith ignores it.

"I would do. Anything. For you."

"Don't _say_ that," Shiro says, weakly, eyes full of anguish.

"Why not?" Keith challenges. "It's true. It's always been true."

"Keith, I took _advantage_ of you!" Shiro bites out, teeth clenched, pained.

"No you _didn't_!" Keith almost shouts, hands flying up, gripping Shiro's arms, tighter and tighter. "How many times do I have to say it, Shiro? I wouldn't do _anything_ different."

Shiro stares at him, eyes widening, mouth dropping open.

"But that doesn't _change_ anything," Keith says, much quieter, sinking back to the bed, hands dropping back to his lap, balling into fists. "So you don't have to regret it."

"Keith," Shiro says, quieter, softer, and he pauses, for one beat, for two. "I'm so sorry."

" _Don't_ be," Keith grinds out, knuckles going white, eyes boring into Shiro's. "I started it. If you have to blame someone, blame me."

Shiro studies him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, eyebrows drawing tightly together. His eyes are rimmed with red. He looks so pale. Pained. Sick. Keith never wants to look away. "Maybe. Maybe you did, but I finished it."

"No," Keith says, reaching out, closing his hand around Shiro's left wrist, staring defiantly into his eyes. He squeezes. "I did."

Shiro's breath catches. He searches Keith's face for several long seconds, pulse hammering under Keith's fingertips. He quickly wets his lips with his tongue. "Why?" he asks, voice hushed.

Words knot up in Keith's mouth, barely more than images: how _good_ Shiro looked spread out beneath him, how right it felt to be in Shiro's arms, how perfect his skin felt, how perfect he smelled, how perfect he _sounded_...They won't line up into anything coherent, into anything he could possibly say aloud. His heart is pounding. Shiro's is still racing. He tightens his fingers on Shiro's wrist.

"Because I wanted to," Keith says, finally, dropping his head to Shiro's arm, just below the shoulder.

Shiro is perfectly still for one long, long moment, then takes a breath, in, then out. His arm comes up, metal hand resting tentatively just below the tense line of Keith's shoulders. "Why?" he asks again, and there's a current of emotion in his voice that makes Keith's breath catch.

Keith shakily exhales, then raises his head, catching Shiro's eyes, holding them, challenging them. Shiro pulls his hand up and away from Keith's grip, fingers sliding, hesitant, up Keith's throat, over the line of his jaw. For the first time _possibility_ sparks in Keith's gut, flaring hot, catching. There's something pleading in Shiro's eyes, something vulnerable, and Keith is overcome with the fierce need to _protect_ it, to be everything Shiro needs, or, Keith truly allows himself to think, for the first time, _desires_.

He surges upwards, arm tightening around Shiro's back, his other hand flying up to cup his jaw as their mouths come together. He kisses at Shiro's lips, top, then bottom, coaxing them apart. His palm slides around to the back of Shiro's skull, fingertips digging in, and Shiro responds, grabbing at Keith's waist with his left hand, easily tugging Keith the last remaining inches over the bedspread and up against his side.

"How long?" Shiro asks roughly, once they've broken apart, panting, still holding each other as tightly as they can.

Keith tries to think, hands still roaming over Shiro's back, the nape of his neck, his hair. He didn't think Shiro could possibly hold him any tighter, but Shiro squeezes him, and he was wrong. "Since the Garrison," he finally responds.

Shiro pulls back, and Keith glimpses the wild flash of his eyes for just a split second before Shiro is kissing him again, sloppy and unguarded. "Me too," Shiro says, shakily, against his mouth, and Keith can't help the _sound_ that wrenches its way out of his throat as Shiro kisses him again, and again, pulling him half into his lap, one arm tight around his waist, the other resting lightly on his back.

They can't stop touching, can't put even the smallest distance between themselves. Exhaustion is tugging at Keith, pulling him down, but he can't let go. Their kisses turn slow, openmouthed and clumsy, and Shiro finally pulls back, pressing his forehead against Keith's. Keith chases after his mouth, and Shiro laughs. The sound of it is more open and relieved than anything Keith has heard from him in such a long time that he throws his arms completely around Shiro's neck, burying his face in his shoulder.

"We should get some sleep," Shiro says, squeezing Keith around the waist. Neither of them move.

"Yeah." Keith's eyes are drooping.

They hold each other in silence. "Stay with me," Shiro says, and Keith nods into his shoulder.

"Yeah. OK." They stand, eventually, with difficulty. Now that there isn't anything to immediately distract him, Keith is quickly reminded that he still feels like absolute shit. His head feels tender, right on the edge of pain, and nausea still curls ominously in his stomach, unhappy with the food he'd eaten earlier.

"How are you holding up?" Shiro touches his arm.

Keith shrugs. "I've felt better."

"Me too. Uh..." Shiro pauses, raising a hand to the fastenings on the front of his jumpsuit. "I guess I'll, just." He starts to undo them, toeing off the simple slip on shoes they'd been given, and shrugs out of his clothes, face reddening. He folds his jumpsuit and places it on the floor by the foot of his bed, now only in a nondescript pair of white shorts, the same as Keith has on under his clothes. Keith starts on his own clothing, watching Shiro intently as he ducks under the covers. Keith steps out of his jumpsuit and leaves it where it lies.

"Will you...get the light?" Shiro asks, smiling almost apologetically. Keith crosses to the door and flicks it off. There's always a tiny bit of a blue glow around the ceiling in the Castle dormitories, and it aids his walk back towards the bed.

Shiro holds up one side of the covers for him, and Keith gets in, only hesitating a moment before scooting closer and tucking his head up against Shiro's chest. Heat rushes to his face at the incredible feeling of skin on skin as Shiro wraps an arm around his back and tugs him close. Keith puts an arm around Shiro's middle and squeezes, breath uneven.

Arousal begins to thrum between his legs, but it isn't urgent, only pleasant, as Shiro strokes his back. Shiro seems to be exploring, fingertips tracing slowly, idly, over the bumps of Keith's spine, over the planes of his shoulder blades, over the softness of his side to his hip. Quiet flows through Keith's mind, and he can't fight the weight of sleep anymore as it drags him down.

I'm sorry, Red.

Her presence surrounds him: kinetic, dynamic, a firestorm without the heat. She's displeased. Keith always tries to cover his pain, to hide it, to protect it from view. Pain does not need protecting. Not from his Lion.

Look, I know, Red, I'm sorry.

Demonstrate this with your actions, Red warns him, not for the first time.

OK, Red, OK, I know, I promise.

It's good for Keith to be honest with the Black Paladin. The swell of warmth from her is pride, Keith realizes.

He doesn't know how to feel about that.

Rest, Red trumpets, her presence withdrawing, swirling tighter and tighter until it shrinks down to a luminescent red pearl in the corner of his mind. It hangs there, warm and ever present, and Keith sinks past it, down, and down, until he doesn't know anything at all.

When Keith wakes up, it's with a start. He has absolutely no idea how much time has passed. The room is still dark, of course, like all of them are in the Castle with the lights out. He grasps at the thread of a dream. Shiro smooths a hand over his back, and it slips through his fingers.

"It's OK. Go back to sleep," Shiro says into Keith's hair in the dark. He sounds completely awake.

"How long have I been out?" Keith asks, voice slurred.

"I dunno," Shiro admits, stroking Keith's neck with his fingertips, rubbing gentle circles into his hairline.

"Did you get any sleep?" Keith asks, voice rough, boneless under Shiro's touch.

"A little."

"Hmm." Keith pushes closer, tucking his arm tighter around Shiro's waist, around his back.

"How do you feel?" Shiro asks, voice low.

Everything is so warm. "Better, I think," Keith says, pushing his face into Shiro's neck. "You?"

Shiro laughs a little. The sound of it makes something coil agreeably in Keith's stomach. "Not too bad." Shiro's palm glides, soft and warm, over the back of Keith's neck, down over his spine. He wraps his arm tighter around Keith's back and pulls him closer, rolls them a little so Keith is on top.

They lie like that for a long time. Keith wouldn't have been able to say how long; he drifts on the edge of sleep, Shiro's hand on his back, fingertips tracing over his skin. It's almost too hot under the blankets, but there's nothing that could possibly make Keith want to move.

Pleasure swells slowly between his legs, warmth rising over his body. Shiro's touch is beginning to leave him shivery and oversensitive. He slides a hand up Shiro's side, over ridges of muscle, over the soft, vulnerable divot of a long scar. Shiro's breath is quickening. His heart speeds up under Keith's ear, and Keith is suddenly fully awake.

Shiro's arm is crossed over his own chest, still draped over Keith's back. When it stops the progress of Keith's hand he drags his fingers back down Shiro's side, then across the soft warmth of his stomach, over the thicker hairs that trail down from his navel. He drags his hand back up, and when he runs into the obstacle of Shiro's arm again he pushes at it until Shiro lets out a little breath of a laugh and it falls to the bed beside him. Keith reaches behind his own back, grabbing onto Shiro's metal wrist and tugging at his arm until it goes around his waist. With that done, Keith slides his palm flat over Shiro's sternum, over his ribs, over the swell of his chest. Shiro's breath catches, his hand spasming on Keith's back.

_Oh._

Keith repeats the action, palm skimming lightly over Shiro's nipple, pleasure hitting him, sudden and low, at how quickly Shiro's heart is beginning to race. He rubs his thumb over the nipple in a tight circle, his own pulse beginning to throb between his legs at the shakiness of Shiro's breath. The nipple tightens under his touch, and he squeezes it between his thumb and forefinger, pushing at the tip of it with the pad of his thumb.

Shiro tosses his head to the side, his breathing harsh, and all at once Keith _wants_ him, wants him desperately, wants to push and push and push until Shiro has no choice but to let him _in_ , to let him _see_...

He bends his knee, pushing his thigh up higher until it's pressed fully between Shiro's legs. He's hard, Keith realizes with a shock of pleasure. How long has _that_ been going on? The idea that his own closeness to Shiro might have had this effect, that Shiro could have been lying here for ages, touching him, _wanting_ him, hits Keith hard. His own hips press insistently against Shiro's thigh, and Shiro's heart begins to _pound_.

He wants, _needs_ , to make Shiro come apart.

Keith straightens his leg again, thighs tight around one of Shiro's, growing erection sandwiched between their bodies. He gives Shiro's nipple one last squeeze, rolling it again under his thumb, before dragging his fingers back down Shiro's chest under the blanket, over his stomach, down over the top of his underwear, over the hard swell of his erection.

Shiro takes in a short, uneven hiccup of a breath. He holds it in, heart pounding under Keith's ear, and when Keith presses down with a thumb under the head he lets it out, shaky and slow. When Keith squeezes tightly with his thumb and forefinger through the thin, stretchy fabric of his underwear, Shiro gasps and lets out a breathy, muffled moan.

Keith yanks his arm out from under the covers. He lunges at the on switch for the dim night lights that surround the bed, and a soft white-blue glow fills the space. It's not bright, but for a second or two it still stings Keith's eyes.

Shiro looks up at him in alarm, then squeezes his eyes shut against the light, whipping his head back to the side. Keith shoves his hand back under the blanket, sliding his palm over Shiro's stomach until it reaches the top of his underwear. He pushes farther, presses down against the head of Shiro's cock with the heel of his hand.

Keith watches Shiro intently, watches the way his eyebrows twitch, watches the way he presses a hand hard against his own mouth as he tries to keep quiet. A muffled groan slips out as Keith pushes down, the heel of his hand pressing into the length of Shiro's cock in one, long slide. He drags it back up, then down, then all over again, half the speed. Shiro's hips jerk, protesting the change in rhythm, his breathing heavy.

All at once Keith yanks back his hand, squirming out from under the covers, shoving them down to Shiro's thighs. He needs to see this. Shiro makes a weak sound of protest, then shivers, eyes shut tight.

"Hey," Keith says, leaning over him, his left elbow digging into the pillow, turning Shiro's head with a hand to his jaw. He intently studies Shiro's face, the crease between his eyebrows, the flush on his cheeks. "Look at me."

Shiro's eyes open, slow, hazy, pupils blown.

"Look at me," Keith repeats, gruffly, and Shiro stares into his eyes, chest heaving. Keith slides his hand down from Shiro's throat to his chest, pushing at his nipple again with a fingertip, squeezing it, watching Shiro's lips part.

He can't help it. He presses his mouth against Shiro's, still intently watching his eyes. They slide shut when Keith kisses him and don't open again, even when Keith pulls away.

"Shiro," Keith says, almost a warning, and Shiro's eyes snap open. "What do you want?"

The question seems to take a moment to sink in. Shiro stares questioningly up at him. "What do I..." He trails off, searching Keith's face.

"What do you want to _happen_ ," Keith clarifies, and when Shiro doesn't answer Keith gives his nipple a sharp squeeze.

Shiro makes a tiny strangled noise, turning his head to the side, burying his face in Keith's chest. Keith soothes the sting with the pad of his finger, teasing Shiro's nipple over and over with the lightest touch.

"You're gonna have to let me know," Keith says, voice verging on flippant, but there's something rearing inside him, powerful and gratified and _needy_ , at the way Shiro is reacting. He's taut as a bowstring, panting breaths hot against the skin of Keith's chest. His left hand is still next to his head, fisted desperately in the pillow, and there's a wet spot growing near the waistband of his underwear. "Shiro?" Keith prompts, and there's a little bit of cruelty in it.

"Touch...touch me," Shiro pleads, finally, eyes shut tight, and pleasure spikes sharply in Keith's stomach.

Keith gives the nipple another long squeeze, pressing small circles into it with the pad of his thumb. "I am," he says, as deadpan as he can manage, and Shiro makes the smallest, most desperate sound into his chest.

"Keith, _please_ ," Shiro begs, his face burning hot. Keith shifts away just a little, just enough to expose Shiro's other nipple, and he drags his fingers over to it, too, squeezing at it relentlessly, like he had the other.

"Like this?"

Shiro tosses his head, throwing an arm over his face. A _noise_ forces its way out of his throat, frustrated and desperate. He arches into Keith's touch.

"You should. Probably be more specific," Keith says into his ear, and Shiro shivers, his metal hand clutching at Keith's back.

"Please, just..." He buries his face farther into his own arm. "J-jerk me off," he manages to get out, voice muffled, and Keith bites down on his own lip, eyes falling shut at the wave of pleasure that swells urgently between his legs.

Keith puts a hand to Shiro's jaw, pulling his face back towards him, and Shiro's arm falls to the pillow behind his head. He's flushed all the way down to his neck, his eyes shut tight. "Look at me." Shiro's eyes snap open. "Say it again."

Shiro chews at his lower lip. His eyes are so pleading that Keith almost gives in and goes easy on him, but, "Jerk me off," Shiro says, again, voice rough, and Keith lets out a shaky, gratified puff of a breath.

"Anything," Keith breathes, and kisses him, _hard_. Shiro moans into his mouth as Keith drops his hand to Shiro's underwear, hooking a couple of fingers in the top hem and dragging it up and over the bulge of Shiro's erection. Shiro helps him, breaking the kiss, breathing ragged. He kicks the covers the rest of the way off and lifts his hips, dropping his own hand from Keith's hair to help push his shorts over his thighs, then off his legs. Keith tosses them off the bed.

 _Fuck_.

Keith wraps an eager hand around Shiro's cock, thick, hard, swollen with arousal. Shiro _arches_ with a hoarse cry, breaking the kiss, tossing his head back, baring his throat. Keith drops a line of slow sucking kisses along Shiro's jaw, down the side of his neck, then sinks his teeth into Shiro's shoulder. His hips jerk into Shiro's thigh, one, twice, pleasure sparking and burning across his entire body from that incredible point of contact.

Yes. Yes. _Yes_.

He pumps Shiro hard and fast, lit up from the inside out at the feeling of it, at the _reality_ of it. Shiro's chest is heaving, and now both of his hands are clutching at Keith's back. The metal one is gripping so tightly that it's starting to hurt, and Keith groans, hips bucking at the fact that Shiro is starting to forget himself. To _lose_ himself.

Keith _needs_ it. He needs Shiro to forget about all of his self-inflicted restrictions. To forget about pain. To forget about the complex and exhausting system of checks and balances that Keith knows must run constantly in his mind, ensuring that he is never the cause of harm to another, emotionally or physically, regardless of the toll it must take on him.

But Keith's never given a shit about getting hurt.

He swipes his thumb around the head of Shiro's cock, spreading pre-come in an expanding spiral, slick and hot and velvet-soft. Shiro's pulse throbs in his throat, and when Keith grips him tightly again and pumps, the vibration of the long, desperate groan that escapes him buzzes against Keith's mouth.

Warmth spreads over Keith's hand, then cold where air hits the wet line of pre-come dripping down over his knuckles. He pushes his weight back up onto his elbow, staring down into Shiro's face. "Shiro," he says, voice rough, "What do you really want?"

Shiro groans again, breathing labored, hands clutching at Keith. "Want you."

Keith lets out a long breath. Images flash through his mind: Shiro flipping him and fucking him from behind, him riding Shiro's lap, him shoving Shiro's legs towards his chest and fucking him into the mattress. He slows his hand, squeezing almost cruelly at the base of Shiro's cock. "How?"

"Please," Shiro begs, hips jerking into the relentless pressure of Keith's grip. "Keith, please...Wanna go down on you, so bad..."

 _Oh_. Heat rises over Keith's face, burns at his ears. Keith lets Shiro's erection drop back to his stomach and raises his hand. He plants it in the mattress by Shiro's shoulder, ignoring the drying stickiness between his fingers, and he barely even knows what to do. This is almost too much. "Why? Have you thought about it before?" he asks, eyes narrowed.

"Yeah," Shiro breathes, and time seems to still for one long second, their eyes locked, before Keith groans and crushes their mouths together. Shiro returns the kiss, needy and openmouthed, palm against Keith's jaw, sliding around to the back of his skull, fingers tangling in his hair.

Keith pulls away, panting. He shoves himself up off the bed, legs unsteady, and hisses as his erection gets caught for a second in the waistband of his shorts when he tries to take them off. Shiro sits up higher, propping himself up a little against his pillow, and the instant Keith's underwear is on the floor he's reaching for him with both hands, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. Keith kneels on the bed and Shiro grabs him by the hips, hauling him closer until he's straddling Shiro's chest. Keith's erection juts between them and Shiro's breath puffs hot over it, his eyes going half-lidded.

Shiro presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss just under the head of Keith's cock, the flat of his tongue slick and hot as he drags it all the way down the shaft, then back up. Keith stares down at him, shaky hands rising to his hair, one twisting into the longer strands, the fingertips of the other stroking over the soft fuzz at the base of his skull. Shiro sucks at the head, dipping his tongue into the slit, and Keith loves him so much, loves every inch of him, loves the crease between his eyebrows, the shadows of his eyelashes against his cheeks, the broad angle of his jaw. Shiro pulls away for just a moment, running his tongue over his lips, wetting them, before sucking him down.

Keith moans, low and long, as Shiro begins to bob his head. He's practically holding Keith up, holding his hips in place with both hands. His tongue slides _hot_ up and down the underside of the shaft, his upper lip, over his teeth, tight around the top. The head of Keith's cock keeps nudging against the slick heat at the back of Shiro's mouth, and Shiro is _beautiful_ , the most beautiful person Keith has ever seen. Keith stares down at him, stroking desperately over his hair with fingers that are getting more and more unsteady the closer he gets to losing control.

"Shiro, Shiro," Keith pants, and Shiro moans around him, momentarily pulling back to kiss and suckle at the tip before taking him back into his mouth. Keith can't even move, Shiro's grip on his hips is so tight. All he can do is watch, lifted higher and higher with every bob of Shiro's head, the chill of his wet skin obliterated over and over and over by unbelievable heat.

The points where Shiro's metal fingers dig into his hip are starting to ache with the pressure, and Keith can feel orgasm building and building inside him. He cries out, fingers twisting in Shiro's hair, clutching at the back of his skull, so close, so close, so close. He hunches forward, crying out again, fingers digging into Shiro's shoulders, barely aware of the sounds he's making, louder and louder in the still of the room. 

"Shiro," he manages to groan before orgasm hits him completely, pleasure swelling and bursting, electricity arcing over his body, his shoulders drawing up, his head falling back. Shiro pulls off until it's just the head of Keith's cock in his mouth, his grip on Keith's hip as punishing as ever. He lets out a long, gratified groan when Keith comes, sucking eagerly, the pressure of his tongue slick and hot and _perfect_.

Keith is trembling all over when Shiro releases the grip he has on his hips, pulling off his cock completely with one last sucking kiss to the tip. Keith sinks down until he's seated on Shiro's chest, woozy, unable to catch his breath, still hunched over him, hands weak on his shoulders.

Shiro strokes his back until he comes back to himself enough to slide a hand around the back of Shiro's neck, pulling him up into a kiss, heavy, shaky, sloppy. Shiro responds eagerly, clutching at his back, and a swell of possessive hunger rises in Keith at the taste of himself in Shiro's mouth.

He pulls back, heart still racing, hands still unsteady. He pushes himself off Shiro and off the bed, catching Shiro's surprised eyes with a heated stare of his own. Keith goes to kneel between his thighs, shoving them apart, and Shiro lets his shoulders fall back to the bed, eyes going unfocused.

Keith grabs Shiro's erection with both hands, one circling the base, the other higher on the shaft, thumb pressing in, just under the head. Shiro arches, hands fisting desperately in the sheets. Keith almost wishes he could just keep Shiro here, on the edge, forever, writhing and panting, all his. All _his_. Shiro stares down at him, lips parted, eyes hazy and pleading, and a shudder of pleasure goes straight through Keith, residual warmth flaring between his legs.

It doesn't take long: a couple dozen strokes and Shiro is seizing up, mouth falling open in a breathy moan that makes Keith want him all over again, as many times as he possibly can. Shiro's erection pulses between Keith's hands, and Keith watches with fascination as lines of white stripe up his stomach.

"Keith," Shiro says, and Keith lets his softening cock fall back to his stomach. He crawls up Shiro's body, sucking kisses up his chest, over his collarbones, up and over his adam's apple. He lies half on top of Shiro, one thigh over his hip, and sucks at Shiro's lips until Shiro kisses him back. Both of Shiro's hands come up to frame Keith's face, his fingers threading into Keith's hair, thumbs stroking his jawline.

They lie that way for a long time, kissing lazily, catching their breath. Keith's heartbeat slows. Shiro's mouth feels so incredible under his, so warm and open and pliant, and Keith can't get enough.

"I should get cleaned up," Shiro says, voice rough, eyes smiling. Keith kisses him again, and he laughs a little against Keith's mouth.

It takes a while, but Shiro finally sits up, pressing a quick kiss to Keith's forehead before he slides out from under him and stands. Keith watches him cross to the bathroom over one shoulder, eyes dragging hungrily over the lines of his back. The bathroom light switches on, throwing a column of gold across the floor, up the far wall. After a few moments, Keith rolls over into the warm spot Shiro left behind and pulls the covers up to his chin.

Keith must have nodded off a little, but he wakes up again when the light switches off. Shiro crosses the deep blue shadow of the far corner and enters the soft aura of light around the bed. Keith lifts the corner of the blanket. Shiro smiles and turns off the night light.

Keith pushes his face into Shiro's chest as soon as he settles under the covers, and Shiro hooks an arm around him. They lie in silence.

The air between them seems to morph in the dark. Shiro is so tense. Stiff. Keith puts an arm around his waist, palm against his spine. After a moment Shiro pushes his nose into Keith's hair, but he's still not relaxed, not at all.

"Shiro?" Keith tilts his face upwards, lips against Shiro's throat. Shiro makes a small, distracted, questioning sound, one that Keith feels more than hears. Keith pulls himself up Shiro's body and rests his head on the pillow. Shiro's arm falls to his waist, and he frames Shiro's face with his hands, studying the shadows of his eyelids. "Shiro."

Shiro's eyes open, blacker than black in the dark. "Keith?" he answers, the humor in his voice so fragile and thin, almost desperate. Keith stares into his eyes, unmoving, until Shiro's eyebrows furrow and he squeezes his eyes shut. "What are we going to do?" he asks, finally, and Keith digs his fingertips into the soft prickle of his hair.

"We'll figure it out."

Shiro's eyes open, and he smiles at Keith like he always does, such distant, desperate warmth, hidden behind such a thick pane of disbelief. Like he still can't believe that Keith is beside him. No, like he can't believe that Keith even wants to exist in the same space that he does. Keith hates it. He wants to smash that glass with his bare fists, and he doesn't care if he gets cut.

"What are you thinking about?" Keith asks. _Tell me the truth,_ he insists with the crease between his eyebrows and the strict clip of his voice.

Shiro takes a deep breath and lets it out. Keith stares into his eyes. "I shouldn't have lost...I shouldn't have let myself..." He takes a breath, the furrow between his brows deepening further. Silence. "It won't be good for you to..." He exhales. "...Be with me."

The fact that Keith was expecting something like this doesn't loosen the knot of hurt that tightens in his chest. "Fuck that," he grates out, and his fingers tighten on Shiro's skull. "I'm not...Fuck what you think I should..." Keith lets out a short, angry puff of a breath. "What do _you_ want?"

Shiro's lips part. His eyes go wide, almost pleading, and Keith wants to drag him out from behind that glass, drag him close, closer and closer, and never release him. Keith hooks his thigh around Shiro's waist, pulling his body as close as he possibly can.

"I already lost you twice," he says, low, forehead pressed against Shiro's. "I know what I want."

Shiro lets out a shaky breath, almost a laugh, but far too raw. He tightens his arm on Keith's back, hand heavy between his shoulder blades, every line of his body tense. Shiro pushes his chin forward and pauses, breath hot against Keith's mouth for one shaky moment before he's kissing him, _hard_ , devouring his mouth, clutching at his back, clutching at his hair.

Keith kisses back, shoving when Shiro pushes, dragging his teeth against his lips, sucking at his tongue. Shiro makes a _sound_ , low and breathy and desperate, and Keith shoves his shoulder back towards the bed, rolls them both, straddling Shiro's waist. He tilts Shiro's head back with both hands, fingertips digging into his skull, and _kisses_ him, groaning when Shiro kisses back just as forcefully. He has to make Shiro feel this fire that's been burning him alive from the inside out for what feels like an eternity. He has to make him understand.

Shiro's hands are all over him, from his back to his waist to his thighs, clutching and squeezing and kneading. The grip of his right is almost bruising, and a thrill goes up Keith's spine at the sensation of it, incandescent sparks of pain flaring white hot out of the growing haze of pleasure. His pulse starts to throb insistently between his legs. 

Keith tilts Shiro's head back farther, licking into his mouth, and Shiro opens for him with a breathy whine that makes need clench in Keith's chest, that makes hunger rear inside him, ravenous and greedy. He rocks his hips forward, hardening cock against the softness of Shiro's stomach, thighs burning with the effort of holding himself up. He breaks the kiss, gasping for breath, and Shiro pulls his hips forward, both hands on his ass. Everything tilts as Shiro sits up, arms tightly circling Keith's middle. Keith puts his arms around Shiro's shoulders, panting into his neck, as Shiro settles him down into his lap, pulling his body flush, the stiff length of Shiro's cock sliding behind his balls, along the cleft of his ass.

Shiro moans into Keith's shoulder, his arms tightening, and Keith grinds down slowly, heat rising up his neck, up to his hairline. They clutch at each other, panting into the dark, and Keith slides his hands up and over Shiro's shoulders, down over his collarbones, down over his chest. Shiro's hips snap upwards when Keith's thumbs find his nipples, circle them, flick at them. Shiro kisses him again, urgent and sloppy, and Keith grinds down, teeth against Shiro's lips.

It's impossible for Keith to catch his breath. His face is burning at the slow slide of Shiro's cock against his ass, at the way Shiro is shaking, at the almost unbearable intimacy of it. Shiro is his. Shiro is _his_. He breaks the kiss, almost wild, bowing his head to bite at Shiro's neck, panting breaths glancing hot off Shiro's throat as he tilts his head and closes his teeth around it. He flicks at Shiro's nipples with his thumbnails and Shiro's breath catches, stutters, his hips jerking up.

They rut against each other with tight, quick thrusts, and when Keith comes it's almost by accident. He throws his arms around Shiro's neck, burying his face in his shoulder, crying out as his hips jerk uncontrollably forward. Shiro pants and thrusts up against him, and Keith rocks downward again and again, desperate for Shiro to come. He tugs at Shiro's hair, kissing sloppily at his neck, until Shiro tenses up, arching, arms tightening around Keith, and comes with a hoarse cry.

Keith holds Shiro close as they come down, still straddling him, their chests flush. Shiro squeezes him tightly around the middle, hands splayed across his back, and Keith kisses him on the mouth until Shiro responds, slow and heavy.

Shiro sinks back onto the bed, pulling Keith with him. There's a sticky mess between their chests and between Keith's thighs, but they lie there for a long time, just breathing, just touching.

"We'll figure it out," Keith says again, squeezing Shiro's arm, his head rising and falling with Shiro's breath.

"Yeah," Shiro responds after a moment, and the exhaustion in his voice makes a fierce bubble of affection swell in Keith's chest. "Yeah. We will." Shiro runs his fingertips through Keith's hair, twisting strands of it around his fingers, his heartbeat steady under Keith's ear.

It's not easy, but they do.

**Author's Note:**

> working title: sex pollen with feelings
> 
> also [may i present my blog](http://reinkist.tumblr.com/) for mostly voltron content, lots of keith and shiro, occasionally my own art


End file.
